Get Your Game On
by Natsuki
Summary: Response to a masskink prompt. Appearances matter, particularly to turians seriously considering something more serious in a relationship. Garrus, his new armor and new casual clothes, and all the people quietly rooting for FemShep and him.
1. Chapter 1

Neither of the Vakarian siblings were all that interested in clothes shopping at the best of times, so when Garrus showed up Solana's door, she was expecting him to ping more ideas for his task force off of her, and said as much.

"What-? No, I actually-" He ducked his head in a show of awkwardness Solana'd not seen since his C-Sec days. "-I just need your opinion. On some new clothes."

"Garrus. Ask me to give you opinions on the M-6 Carnifex versus the new Salarian Scorpion and I can talk for however long you want." She leaned a hip against her kitchen counter, turning to face him rather than finish fixing some semblance of lunch for the two of them. "Anything 'needful' will be gotten in the best quality, but-"

"- anything else is decadence unbefitting a Vakarian. I know." His mandibles widened in a rueful gesture at the automatic completion of their father's mantra. Garrus somehow managed to give the impression he was looking up at her, despite being taller than her now, in the look that'd gotten her into more trouble as a kid than- well, anything. "I'm not looking for, er, fine feathers or anything."

"Good. I'd have to disown you as my brother if that were the case." Solana paused. Stared. "... Garrus, are you planning on actually giving in to Dad's attempts at getting grandkids to play with after this whole Reaper thing's dealt with?"

He cocked his head, rubbing the back of his neck in a very human gesture. "Hadn't thought of /that/, no," he replied. There was a mumble she vaguely interpreted as "...wonder what /they'd/ look like..." and her heart sank.

She pushed off the counter, seizing his face between both of her hands, tapping her claws gently on the unscarred side of his face. "/Please/ tell me that it's not Councilor Velarn's sister. Spirits, /please/."

"What? No!" He wasn't going to jerk out of her grip like this, though Solana could feel him tensing as though he wanted to. She gave his head a little bit of a tug, and he winced as best he could. Sibling habits died hard. "I'm the head of a task force, Sol. I should, ah, look the part."

Turians didn't lie well. They tended to shade the truth, refrain from explaining everything. Garrus was a bad turian, but he still couldn't lie worth a damn. Solana let go of him and tapped one talon against the floor, staring up at him. He shifted from foot to foot. She stared more. He looked anywhere but at her. She growled and took advantage of it.

The surprised hiss and solid *whumph* of Garrus hitting her kitchen floor was music to her ears. "Are we going to start the whole 'I'm not telling you for your own sanity, Solana' thing again?" she asked, staring down at him. It was psychological as well as physical: they weren't so far removed from predator instincts to disregard someone having the higher ground, the dominant position, even within family. She tapped a talon next to his head as he finally looked at her. "Because we both know how well /that/ works. So, Garrus, tell me: who are you serious enough about that you're considering giving up that damned hole-ridden armour?"

He sighed. "You're not going to let up until I tell you, are you. It's Shepard."

Solana blinked at him, then offered him a hand up. "Well, if you had to go the whole awkward interspecies romance route, I guess you picked the best," she said with a certain smug satisfaction. "Chellick owes me a hundred credits. He swore up and down that there was nothing going on between you two."

"You had a bet... with my old boss?" No small part of Solana's smugness was due to the poleaxed expression upon Garrus' face, and the fact that she could still make him lose that smooth confidence he'd gained somewhere in the last few years. "/Sol./"

She rumbled soothingly and brushed her cheek against his, mandibles quivering with restrained amusement. "I /was/ going to suggest asking Victus. I know you've been dealing with him with the task force, and I know he's in town, and moreover, he's not likely to steer you wrong. He's a fine figure of a distinguished turian." She pulled back, leaning against the counter again.

Garrus' eyes lit up with mirth. "Got a bit of a thing for older men, Sol? I think I'll take you up on that suggestion. See what Adrien thinks of... hm. A lot of things. Including still-unmarried older sisters."

"Brat. Besides. It's about time you cleaned up. You're a respectable military man now." Solana paused. "I want the full story behind Shepard, though."

* * *

She sent a message to Chellick the moment Garrus left her apartment:

/Pay up. You were wrong about Shepard and my brother. And, given that he's actually preening a bit, I think it's serious. Suggestions?

The answer came quickly.

/ How long ago did we make that bet? I heard about his task force. Even if this "Reaper" threat's not real, the steps he's taking are useful. Glad he's back to working within the Hierarchy rather than running amok. I should've called off that bet after Shepard died; his reaction was a bit extreme then, even. As for suggestions, I'll ask one of my informants. She's a human, she'll have a better idea of what might impress Shepard. She's even met her.

/ Good. I might not quite have forgiven Shepard for encouraging Garrus' playing at being a Spectre, but she's at least military, and ... well. I think even Dad grudgingly admits she's effective.

/ Humans tend to grow more interesting and... unconventionally effective as you get to know them. All the same, I'll see what I can do. Though Shepard's situation at the moment is a little precarious, with the Batarians out for her blood.

/ Funny. That just makes me like her more.

* * *

Adrien Victus might have been an unconventional turian, but unobservant he was not. He genuinely respected Garrus Vakarian's efforts on behalf of the Hierarchy. The Reaper Task Force had been a placatory measure to the elder Vakarian's political weight, but the younger'd turned it into something that had become remarkably effective regardless of the threat (and Adrien wasn't going to argue with a Spectre who had enough conviction to argue her case repeatedly before the Council and blow up a Mass Relay and then turn herself in to her own military; that spoke of either madness or complete and utter honesty, and given her accomplishments, he thought it was mostly the latter).

So when Garrus asked for help in terms of cleaning up and presenting a better front, Adrien filed it under 'interesting things to consider' and did his best.

It was interesting what Garrus /didn't/ say about his former Commander. He spoke of respect, of unconventional tactics, and of an absolute sense of right and wrong leavened by humour. He never spoke of her humanity.

When the Reapers came and he found himself on the Normandy SR-2, Adrien set aside his armour for the trappings of diplomacy, but did not set aside the skills that let him read a situation and evaluate the possibilities. And if he derived a touch of amusement from watching Shepard's expression lighten just a little bit with every word of praise he offered Garrus, well, he could be forgiven.

"It sounds like you two have been friends for quite a while." She'd brought him kava, and had coffee for herself. The lights were always dim on the Normandy, but it was the ship's night-cycle, and he'd had casualty reports dancing before his eyes when he'd tried to rest, so he'd returned to the war room and found a partner in insomnia.

Adrien turned to regard her sidelong, giving her the illusion of not being watched too carefully. "His work with his task force brought him to my attention. I approved of it, and it demonstrated his leadership ability and initiative - something we turians occasionally lack. We tend to wait for orders."

Shepard's shoulders eased a bit, and she leaned forward, cupping the mug between her hands. It was less military, and while he was no expert in reading human expressions, she seemed pleased- and relieved. "Kindred spirits, you and he?" she asked lightly.

He hid the amused quiver of his mandibles. "I would say that his grasp of tactics could exceed mine, in time. We do share the ability to take advantage of the situation rather than simply following orders." It was nothing more than the truth, he realized. As young as Garrus was, he had the ability to use the unexpected to create opportunity. "I am happy to have him as my adviser."

"And friend?"

"Even moreso."

He had plenty of opportunity to observe Shepard over the next few days. She worked herself as hard or harder than any of the crew, shouldering the weight of having left Earth burning behind her for the greater good. All Adrien had to do to see Garrus' attachment, his reason for wanting to show himself to advantage, was to watch her, to watch him as he arranged things around the Commander, and those quiet, unguarded moments in which she responded to him.

And frankly, Adrien could do little but approve. Shepard would have made a bad turian in the best possible way.

* * *

The doors to the medbay hissed open on a semi-familiar sight: Mordin, holding a datapad, chattering gaily. Dr. Chakwas had sensibly made her escape (Shepard suspected brandy shenanigans and prayed that whatever happened, Engineer Adams wouldn't rewire the drive core. She'd just gotten Donnelly and Daniels back), and Eve was perched on one of the beds, knees drawn up to her chest.

"... Garrus loyal, reasonably intelligent. Bit aggressive. Almost like krogan."

"For the third time, Doctor, I'm not interested."

"-Ah, Shepard, we were just-"

Wrex's interruption was welcome; a distraction kept Shepard from considering whether or not Mordin was serious. Regardless, she mentally stomped upon the little twitch of jealousy. No strings attached, friends over lovers - she didn't particularly want to push Garrus for more than he wanted to give.

She shook her head, running a hand through her hair and refocusing upon the latest addition to the Normandy's crew. When she left, she missed the look exchanged between doctor and patient, too distracted by turning the crystal between her fingers. /Hope in the darkest hour. Huh./

When the door closed behind her, Mordin cleared his throat. "Hesitation on entering. Could be signs of our plan working. Jealousy? Human emotional responses so slow. Obvious signs of turian courtship display-"

Eve huffed a laugh, letting the veiling beads fall across her eyes. "She still has a choice, Doctor. All we can do is try to make it clear that the choice she wants is there. I envy her that."

"Recruit more help. Primarch a friend of Garrus. Also... practical turian. If amenable, could be useful."

"Doctor, you have far too much fun arranging people's love lives."

* * *

Garrus swiped a hand over his colony markings, staring at his reflection in the medbay's glass. Supplies of turian blood were low enough that he'd gotten dragged in by Mordin and Chakwas in the wake of taking on some of the 9th Platoon's casualties; to his consternation, there was a familiar face amongst the injured.

In armour, it was nearly impossible for non-turians to tell the difference between females and males. It'd served Varinia Crassus well enough, sparing her the stares and curious questions from the human crew; the doctors were too professional to do more than note it on her chart and go back to removing the pieces of shrapnel from her left side.

Knowing her hair-trigger response to stress and new locations - particularly when injured - Garrus stayed nearby. No sense in risking Mordin or Chakwas; they'd just gotten them back. Injured turians rarely reacted well. Injured turians in a too-bright human medbay? Awkward.

So, when the sedatives wore off, he managed to catch the sharp-taloned swing and twist her hand into a hold she wouldn't break before her head cleared and her eyes adjusted. She growled at him instinctively, gaze hazed over with reaction-pain and pupils mere pinpricks in vivid green, before she subsided with a dual-toned groan.

"You're on the Normandy," Garrus said, keeping his wrist-lock in place. "You were injured when the escape pod was hit by harvester fire."

She suddenly twisted in his grasp, eeling around until she was free and his arm was twisted behind him, one claw at his throat. "Couldn't let you have all the fun, Vakarian," she said in a remarkably coherent tone. "Get away from me with the needles, I'm not actually going to hurt him."

Chakwas tossed the needle into a sharps container, and Garrus saw Mordin replace something in a hidden pocket of his coat, and then the pressure on his wrist eased. "I should've remembered you fight dirty." He shook out his arm, thankful for the armour's protection. He suspected he'd be numb otherwise. "You'll have to teach me that break."

Varinia's eyes were back to normal when he turned to look at her again, and there was a self-satisfied tilt to her head. "Doubt I'll be up for sparring anytime soon. Of any sort," she replied. There was an uneasy dissonance to her voice, a note of pain carefully hidden under the light reply.

Garrus clicked his mandibles gently, catching her attention again. "Wasn't expecting you to. I thought you'd prefer to wake up to a ... ah, semi-familiar face." He self-consciously scratched at the scars.

She cocked her head at him. "Impressive. What'd you do, have a close-and-personal encounter with a welding torch? You always did have a thing for trying to fix stuff you probably should've left to the experts." Her gaze dropped to the armour, then the rest of him, and her mandibles widened. "I'm almost disappointed there won't be another tiebreaker. You clean up well."

Garrus cleared his throat. "Sorry. Ah- hmm." He looked out the medbay windows towards the mess. Shepard lifted a glass in a mock-salute and grinned at him, and he felt himself relax, then tense up again. Because /this/ wasn't misinterpretable...

Varinia tried to twist to look, caught a glimpse of the commander, and looked at him. Garrus met her gaze. She'd always been good at reading him. It'd made her a good opponent - they'd honed their wits on one another, as well as their hand-to-hand skills - but it also led to her coming to conclusions he'd rather not have as scuttlebutt.

He shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. Her amusement deepened. "All the good ones. Taken, or xenophiles. Or both. Guess you're both." She dragged the edge of one claw across another. "Serious?" she asked, dropping the teasing.

"I don't know yet. She's human. It was, er." He'd told Shepard /that/ story, and karma always came back to bite him. Spirits forbid they talk. "... casual before."

Oh, that devious light in Varinia's eyes boded ill. He made his excuses and fled, never noticing Mordin and Eve watching with interest.

The conspiracy widened by one that day.

* * *

_This was originally posted on the masskink community. _


	2. Chapter 2

"Primarch Victus!" The recon scout recoiled, trying to get to her feet to salute and failing, steadied only by the female krogan's presence at her bedside. The salarian doctor looked up from his datapad with such a nonchalant air that Adrien was instantly suspicious.

(And, if he had to admit it, somewhat amused deep down.)

He held up a hand to still Crassus' attempts to offer proper respect. "Stand down. I came to inform you that the remainder of your unit has been attached to the 11th, and the _Metis_ is en route to transfer you once the last remains of the mess on Tuchanka have been... resolved."

"For what it's worth, Sir..." Crassus' undertone turned raspy, the flanging effect deepening. The salarian doctor sent a sharp look their way. Victus stilled. "... I think the Hierarchy could use more people who think about... non-standard ways of approaching a problem. Your son was one of them. I respect that."

Victus stared at her. Humanity - or perhaps it was just this ship - had a way of prying the armour from people, leaving them all equal, with fewer facades and protections. It was terrifying to a turian mindset. It was antithetical to military doctrine in the Hierarchy.

It was honest.

"Thank you." He looked at the female krogan, who had been listening and watching with a too-knowing gaze. Adrien took a breath. In the interests of honesty (and distracting curiosity)- "What were you discussing before I came in?"

The doctor was shrewd. Victus had expected nothing less. "Noticed Garrus' ... hm, altered appearance. Approved. Mating display, but perhaps too subtle for Shepard." He paused. "Shepard requires blunt instrument to the head. Mostly figuratively. Sometimes literally."

"And, of course, you plan to be that figurative blunt instrument?"

The female krogan spoke up, her voice a low rumble that soothed the jagged edges of Victus' nerves. "As much as Wrex complains about salarian minds being labyrinthine, the good Doctor tends to be a little /too/ blunt. Scout Crassus and I were looking for more allies. Do you wish to join us in creating a little bit of happiness in the face of war and politics, Primarch?"

A good turian would have commented on stress-relief, dismissed all the signs of Vakarian and Shepard and interspecies romance.

Adrien wasn't a good turian. "The moments with our loved ones are precious. May I suggest a better strategy than blunt instruments?"

Solus seemed neither offended nor surprised. In fact, the quick blinks seemed smugly self-satisfied.

* * *

Shepard leaned back in her chair, the remains of her dinner tray before her. Varinia sat across her, her leg propped up on another chair and her own rations long-since devoured. "... he was holding off three merc groups. It was impressive," she said, poking the arrangement of straws and cutlery before her meant to simulate the bridge and apartment of Archangel's last stand. "I had no idea it was Garrus up there. Once we cleared the way up there, he didn't even turn around, just made this 'wait a second' motion and then shot the last lingering merc." She could feel her smile tug the corners of her lips upwards. "Then he turns around, takes off his helmet, and goes, 'Shepard. I thought you were dead.' I admit, I couldn't decide for a second if I should punch him or hug him, but it was the happiest I'd been since I woke up."

Varinia didn't even bother to hide the widening of her mandibles, nor the loose-limbed relaxation she felt swapping stories with this human woman. "Sounds like Garrus. That whole arrogant sniper thing used to get under my plates like nothing else. It didn't help that he was damned good at hand-to-hand, too." She watched the gears turn in Shepard's head, ticking towards the inevitable conclusion. Varinia took out a file and started putting an edge on her claws. She'd be back on limited duty again soon. "So, I thought I'd take him down a peg or three. Nine rounds later..." She trailed off.

Shepard made a face Varinia wasn't certain how to interpret. Her mouth bunched up, her brows drew down, and she looked off to the side. "Reach versus flexibility?" she asked, and Varinia relaxed at the wry humour threaded through the question.

"Is ithat/i the line he used? Spirits." She tilted her head at Shepard, who was making that pursed-lip expression again. "He's come a long way since then, but apparently his storytelling skills still need some work. Not that I wouldn't still blow off steam with him given the chance, but..."

"But...?" The humour was gone, replaced by an edged wariness and- yes! Varinia stifled a hum of appreciation - a bit of challenge. Shepard'd fight for Vakarian.

"If you hadn't noticed, I'm not the one who got him to argue with the former Primarch for a task force, made him iget/i that task force, and whose inspiration drove him far enough up the CoC that he's getting saluted by generals," Varinia pointed out. She leaned forward, ignoring her body's protest at the movement, meeting Shepard's gaze unflinchingly, and honestly. "Understand, Commander: even with the scars, he's idamned/i attractive, with all he's accomplished within the Hierarchy and without, but he's also off-limits and..." She leaned back again, exaggerating her mandible-widening in her best approximation of a human grin. "... most of the competition's outclassed by you."

Shepard stared for a moment, then started to laugh. "Thanks, I think." She was a little red-cheeked, Varinia noticed, and was unwilling to meet her gaze. "So, got any more stories to tell? Given we don't see female turians often in the wider galaxy..."

Varinia laughed and settled back to swap stories.

* * *

/ Solana-

I will admit, I find myself unsurprised by Garrus' devotion to Commander Shepard; she and her ship have a way of stripping people down to their essential natures and ignoring the externals. It has a way of inspiring her people to live up to her expectations. I believe that even were she not a Spectre in reality, she would still move between the laws, unstated or otherwise, for multi-racial interactions. I have no way of knowing whether this is a cause for or an effect of her relationship with your brother; regardless, in the aftermath of the latest upheavals, it has become clear that she depends on him for more than watching her six. I still cannot disapprove. Whether she notices his intentions, however, remains doubtful. The plans to present him as a good candidate would seem almost unnecessary, were it not for the fact that Shepard is much-desired amongst her own race.

Thankfully, she seems as oblivious to their attentions as she is to Garrus' preening. With the salarian gone, and "Eve" back amongst her people, the conspirators on Garrus' behalf have become more limited, so I suppose I should be glad for her oblivion.

The situation on Tuchanka has been resolved, though not without cost. Tarquin died a good turian's death, but I could wish that it had been me to pay his price, not him. Had I trusted the Commander, perhaps he would not have died. It is a lesson I will not fail to take into account in future ...

... krogan aid will soon touch down on Palaven. I expect you will be in the thick of the fighting. Your own battle-prowess combined with your family name will certainly catch the attention of the krogans, and, I hope, allow you to respond. The words I would wish to say are not ones easily written.

Respectfully,

Adrien Victus. /

He shut the terminal just as the Commander walked out of the comm room, rubbing her neck. While Adrien had studied humans - all high-ranking turians did, these days - the slump in her shoulders and the stiffness with which she moved were universal. "Commander," he greeted, intercepting her as she eyed the door. "The Metis has arrived. Our fleet will be at your disposal when the time comes." He paused. "Garrus..."

Her head snapped up at that. "... is a member of _my_ crew, Primarch."

The easy cameraderie between them had been badly rattled with the news of the bomb and Tarquin's death. Victus had watched her after that mission, noticed the blood and gore and ever-present Tuchanka dust darkening her skin and the way her armoured shoulders had slumped for an instant when she'd left the shuttle. In the middle of his grief, he'd not considered the implications, but now-

-now he wondered if part of her anger at him was feeling responsible for failing to save Tarquin. "I have no intentions of even trying to remove him from the Normandy, Commander." He leaned forward. She held her ground. "He is my friend and my adviser, but not _my_ subordinate."

"He's not my subordinate either, Primarch. He may follow my orders, but that's because we have a common interest. He's my _partner._"

Victus took a step into her space. She stared up at him in challenge. "Consider, Commander, what you have just said." He carefully rested a hand upon her shoulder. "And then realize that as Garrus' friend, I _do_ watch him, and... I approve." He paused, hand remaining upon her cool shoulder but not closing, not binding. "I regret not having trusted you. It is not a mistake I will make again. Garrus' trust in you is unshakeable, and I find his judgement, as ever, correct." The tension under his hand eased somewhat, and he let go. "I own my mistakes. They are not yours to carry."

They were not the words he'd wished to leave her with, but they were no less true for their impulsive origins.


	3. Chapter 3

Shepard woke abruptly, the nightmare not of the little boy, but something closer to home: the logical end, if she'd come moments later to recruit Archangel. She could feel her blood rushing through her veins, the pulse-point at her wrist beating visibly fast when she rested her arm over her eyes. She tried to erase the images from her mind, failed, and half sat up.

Garrus slept less in one cycle than she did, preferring quick naps over heavy, prolonged sleep. It wasn't uncommon for her to wake to him at her console, enmeshed in work, or on her couch with a datapad. In the dim light, she saw him turn towards her, setting his work aside. He had a lot more people leaning on him these days - she knew he'd come into his own, and damn whatever the former Shadow Broker's files said - and she respected that, didn't want to come between him and his people.

She toyed with the idea of saying the magic words, 'I'm fine,' then inched over to make space for him on the edge of the bed instead. Garrus was warm, a hint of metal and some sharp tang to his scent that began to ease the lingering nightmare images as he briefly brushed his forehead against hers. He pulled away, blue eyes thoughtful, and she shifted to lean her head against his shoulder.

He'd taken to wearing civilian clothes more than armour in her quarters, a change she never questioned but appreciated at times like this. Yielding he might not have been, but armour was worse, and moreover lacked the warmth he exuded. As she sat and breathed, feeling the tension drain out of her, she could feel him chuckle.

"You've only been down for four hours, Shepard. Going to try to finish out your sleep-shift, or am I going to have to play dirty?" Sometimes, she wished she could hear and interpret more of the turian sub-harmonics, but her gut instinct was usually right. It didn't stop the rumble from sending warmth coiling through her.

"What'd you have in mind?"

In answer, he scooped her up and carried her over to the couch, snagging the blanket from the bed along the way. "I didn't mean dirty in that way." He pulled the blanket around her, snugging it under her chin, and then carded his fingers through her hair in a gentle caress. "Just let yourself relax for a bit. We're in transit anyway. Anything goes wrong, and Joker'll interrupt."

She let her eyes fall half-shut at the touch and the calm assurance in his voice. "Never known Joker to be shy in interrupting, that's true," she agreed. His claws - he kept them blunted, for her, she knew - swept more strands of her hair back out of her face, and she felt more tension ooze out of her. "You have... until forever to stop doing that."

His chuckle reverberated through her as she settled against him. "The great Commander Shepard, brought low by being petted."

Shepard snorted. "Your word choice is as terrible as ever. Though I guess that applies, too." She slid further down the couch, resting her head on his thigh. The material of his civvies was soft, the skin underneath fever-warm to a human, and she could feel exhaustion creeping up on her again. Being taken care of was not something she yielded to easily, but this was Garrus. And at times like these, she could envision a future where they didn't have to measure each day by the small bits of attention they could spare, nor wonder if it was just the war that'd gotten them together.

She let those worrying thoughts fade, pulled away with each touch of his claws through her hair, the light scratch over her scalp provoking a purely primitive response of boneless relaxation: trust, comfort, safety- she could sleep like this. Her last thought before she gave in was, "This's a dirty trick, Garrus."

He just chuckled again. "I'll be here when you need me, Shepard."

Garrus knew the moment she drifted off: her breath evened out, and the last vestiges of tension left her muscles, leaving her curled bonelessly in the blanket-cocoon with her head in his lap. Regardless of race, it was a gesture of trust to sleep so deeply in his presence.

As a few strands of her hair slipped over his fingers, he tucked them back behind her ear and brushed the back of his knuckle over her cheek. Softer by far than a turian, in so many ways, but some things remained the same; he knew that humans didn't codify the gestures quite so clearly as turians, but when he'd started to play with her hair it was as much instinct as planned gesture, and she'd responded. Perhaps he'd been preening a bit himself, but that was metaphorical. This- this was more of a hold-over from older days for turians.

It seemed that humans were no less susceptible to it, though.

Garrus continued to card his fingers through her hair, picking up the abandoned datapad with his other hand. No messages from Solana, or from Gavius. He stifled a curious click at the sight of a message from Adrien, resting the datapad on his unoccupied leg and opening the message.

/Garrus,

You should be made aware of a certain conspiracy within the Normandy's crew to make sure your exploits on behalf of the Hierarchy reach your Commander's ears. In short: understand that not only do they (and we) approve, but they are actively attempting to be of aid.

I have done my best to moderate some of the more... direct proposals, as I am fully confident in your ability to do your own wooing (and there was some mention of blunt instruments and Shepard's skull; the Normandy's pilot is rather colourful, but I am not certain he was joking in this case. I know that Doctor Solus was not), but the extent of the conspiracy is unknown, if benignly-intended.

Take it as a sign that it is comprised of every race in our growing alliance.

I have also sent some of Urdnot Wrex's favoured companies into the area in which Solana and your father were last active. I do not expect her to be far from the fighting, so with hope, the krogan will find and aid her long enough to allow her to contact us for better orders, such as 'get off of Palaven, you insane, explosion-happy turian.'

She is worth far more to the Hierarchy in a position with adequate resources than in street-fighting. Should I hear from her, I will let you know.

- Victus. /

Garrus read the message once, set it aside for a moment or two, then picked it up and read it again. It wasn't the conspiracy that worried him, really.

He tapped out a quick reply.

/ Adrien-

Keep in mind that she's very, very attached to her blue paint. That said, who do you think commented on your fashion sense when it came time for me to clean up?

And if she contacts you before she contacts me, I'm not sure if it'd be revenge for those two years, or a sign of her interest in you. It doesn't matter.

I just really don't want details.

- GV. /

* * *

While Bailey'd tried to convince Garrus to help C-Sec in the wake of the attacks, his focus was more upon the turian wounded who'd been in the refugee camps, particularly once Shepard negotiated the trade of some of their surplus for medical supplies.

"... shouldn't be surprised that the Normandy carries supplies for multiple races, but I hadn't expected quite this level of preparation," Tactus was saying, checking over the manifest while Garrus leaned in the doorway of one of the shipping containers-turned-living space. Tactus' eyes snapped up to meet Garrus' steady look, then ease past him. His voice took on an amused pitch, and a bit more volume. "You know, it was your work over in Cargo Hold E that actually set up some organization for this docking bay. The logistics in a lot of the other refugee areas are a mess. We're lucky you were here, Vakarian, sir."

Garrus gave Tactus a nonplussed look. It'd been his job at the time, his responsibility and his duty to his men- and Tactus knew that. It was when a voice came from behind him that he realized he hadn't been the target of that little spiel.

"I'm sorry to have taken him away from you." Shepard sounded genuinely apologetic, "But I need his talents on the Normandy. I came to see if there was anything specific you were in need of; we'll be investigating the Quarian fleet soon, so dextro supplies should be available in some amount or another."

Her hand brushed under his elbow, one of the points where his armour was lightest. The coolness of her touch, and the familiarity of it, made his mandibles twitch with satisfaction. It wasn't lost on Tactus, who looked between the two of them again and inclined his head subtly to Garrus before his attention returned to Shepard. "The Hierarchy's supply chains are in good shape thanks to Vakarian's task force prior to the Reapers' arrival, but I'll make a list and send it to the Normandy, Commander. We can use almost any supplies, dextro or levo, at this point. Thank you."

Shepard nodded. "Garrus, I'm going to go check on how Bailey's doing with C-Sec's systems. We want to make sure there aren't any more hidden Cerberus surprises like that virus." She lifted a hand in a backwards wave as she took off at a quick walk. Garrus knew she was already shifting her attention to the next problem, but couldn't quite help admiring her departure and the way people visibly straightened in her wake, bolstered by even the slightest glimpse of Commander Shepard.

Tactus cleared his throat, a dual-toned noise of amusement. Garrus' attention snapped back to him. "Good luck in your pursuit, Vakarian, sir," he said, meeting his gaze steadily.

Despite his consternation at this declaration, Garrus acknowledged it with a wry chuckle, but nothing beyond that. "Speaking of C-Sec, however, I know there are a number of Palaven troops here who're recovering but who're up for light duty. Bailey up at C-Sec could use trained personnel; even if they're just flying a desk for a while, it'd free up the able-bodied to put out fires literal and figurative."

Garrus had to give Tactus credit. He didn't require any further prompting, and, in fact, pulled up a file on his omnitool and sent it to Garrus'. "Here are my recommendations. Also, a note of the C-Sec personnel who've been effective and efficient-" Some of the best compliments for turians. "-in their work down here. They deserve acknowledgement of their work."

"I'll get this to Bailey."

* * *

Septimus Oraka wasn't unfamiliar with Garrus, or Vakarian Sr. for that matter; Gavius'd been one of the ones who could (and did) send a very pointed letter on the disgrace he'd been making of himself over Sha'ira. Remembering some of the phrasing had been part of the reason he'd cleaned up.

Garrus Vakarian paired with Commander Shepard had resulted in more than a few interesting bulletins across his desk. And some of the unofficial news that got passed around had sent more than one good turian into a dazed stupor for a moment or two. Oraka, however, had no ground to hold where pursuing non-turian mates was concerned.

(He'd locked himself in his office and laughed for a while when Chellick started to curse about having lost a bet to Solana Vakarian about Garrus' interest in his Commander, in fact. Partly because of Gavius' likely reaction, and partly because of the sheer irony.)

Thus, seeing Commander Shepard sitting at a table at the newly-restored cafe in the Presidium, accompanied by the second human Spectre was somewhat dismaying. Judging by the expression of the asari matriarch behind the counter, he wasn't the only one finding this development less than pleasant.

Five minutes later, he was eyeing the drink in front of him, steaming with things he'd rather not contemplate. Aethyta gave him a knowing look. "It's almost as cold as what a volus'd drink," she said simply. "iDon't/i get any on your hide."

When asked later, Oraka would completely blame the spill on Cerberus: they'd damaged the Presidium Commons' pavement, and no, he really hadn't intended to dump the freezing drink down Alenko's back.

To the human's credit, he'd taken it well and made his strangled excuses to Shepard before making a beeline for the elevators. Septimus swapped the chairs out and dropped into the new one across from Shepard, stretching his legs out before him.

"I thought you didn't drink anymore."

"I don't."

"Uh-_huh._ Just bringing the drink to a friend, and you happened to trip over a non-existent pothole."

Oraka splayed his hands before him, palms-down. "Terrible things, those potholes. So, Commander Shepard, when you've dealt with the Reapers, do you plan on giving us our rising star of a Vakarian back?"

Shepard eyed him. "Funny. You're the second turian who's said something about that. The more people ask me, the more I'm tempted to say, 'Nope, he's stuck on my six.'"

For some reason, the entire cafe'd gone quiet at precisely that moment. The declaration rang out unimpeded by background noise.

There was an amused hum from one side. "Good to know I'm, ah, appreciated," Garrus said. "I saw Alenko... well, smelled him, more than that - reminded me of busting up that volus drinking game back in my C-Sec days - trying to find a new shirt. General." He inclined his head to Oraka, who hid the quiver of his mandibles when Garrus glanced back at Shepard with an intensity instantly recognizable to Oraka. "You'll always have me on your six, Shepard."

Oraka chimed in with, "Most turians would kill for an opportunity like that, and not just for the honour-"

"Riiiight." Shepard's drawl was accompanied by her lifting her hand to forestall further commentary. "I appreciate the rescue, Oraka. Don't try it again. Garrus?" She stood up, seizing the front of his armour and pulling his head down to hers to rest her forehead against his in plain view of the rest of the cafe, then added a human-style kiss. "I'll see you back at the Normandy."

When she was gone, Septimus Oraka jabbed Garrus with a booted foot. "So, _what_ are you nervous about?"

Garrus pulled his mandibles in. "Nothing, apparently."


End file.
